


The Pretty Chains

by bolide_belle, GlowAmber



Series: The Pretty Series [Tangled Circus AU] [2]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, F/M, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Racism, death mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bolide_belle/pseuds/bolide_belle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowAmber/pseuds/GlowAmber
Summary: Cassandra knows the places the chains wait to snap her up, and Lance knows the limits of his leash. No matter how shiny and pretty they dress it up, they're tethered in place, stagnant, surviving day to day.[Sequel to the Pretty Cages, expanding on the between and after. Cassandra/Lance centric.]





	The Pretty Chains

There is nothing heavy around her wrists, nothing cold to choke her throat, no iron binding her ankles-- and yet she is chained. She has long accepted her role in this place and does not look beyond the present, she does not fight against the golden links that thread about her. If she keeps in step, if she follows exactly, they do not close, they merely guide her and tinkle like ominous bells reminding her what happens when she dares think of what is outside her reach.

And so her schedule does not deviate, does not change. The places may, but once they step off the train and arrive in a new city, an old city, a familiar city, the clock begins in her head and she can count the ticks like she can count the beats of her heart, like the clinking of the chains. 

One, two, three-- one, two, three---

To the lot with the materials, to the lot with the performers and labourers. Up go the tents, out come the caravans. She is too old to marvel over the rising giants anymore, her hands are rough from where she takes old smooth worn wood and pushes with the others til the supports are in place. Heavy hammers in her grip as she pulls back and swings, the impact of steel on steel no longer jarring her arms as she drives stakes deeper and deeper into the dirt. She pivots and helps direct traffic as the cages of animals come in, her voice one of many, mingling and rising as she shouts and points to where they go.

There is no rest, no time to mop the sweat from her brow, no time to pause and marvel over where they’ve come to now. Her pulse thunders in her ears and her muscles are tense and sore but she pushes on and on, relentlessly marching, tirelessly working. And when the day yawns into evening, the lights all come on, painting colors into the dreary night sky. They breathe life into these places, they remind people how to hope and dream and find something more in themselves and in the world, but she sees all of this and thinks of a time table.

Even the small things are planned, routed in her head like the stops on a train. It’s been this way since she came to the circus, since the Baron deemed her worth his time and gave her a cot in one of the caravans and showed the limit of her shiny pretty chain. To survive and earn her keep, she must do as she’s told. She found her place and she knows better than to complain, even if it itches and aches. 

Starvation has always been a step behind her, clawing into her back and reminding her what the streets outside have to offer. Then, there is the leash before her, threatening to choke her and drag her down if she missteps.

So she does not misstep. She dances carefully through the traps they lay, aware of the shimmering shiny loops just beneath everyone’s feet. She balances on a knife’s edge and sees beyond it all with longing, but tucks her chin down and keeps her eyes on the now. She doesn’t live, she survives-- and that needs to be good enough.

She has free time, like other workers, but she knows better than they. They disappear into the city night after night, carousing and fighting. They will be gone in weeks, she has been here since she was twelve. Make yourself useful, make yourself worthwhile, and you will eat three times a day and sleep in shelter that does not leak. You will breathe freely and wake up every morning. She knows some people never wake up.

She knows that sometimes people come back, and then never leave.

Cassandra doesn’t want to be them, doesn’t want to turn her back on the wrong people or drink from the wrong cup, so even if she wants? Even if she looks and desires, even if she can feel the depth in stolen conversations? She doesn’t dare step out of line. He’s so close, she’s so close, and still they dance around each other. One slip and she will fall and the chains will snap her up, tangle her up, and she will be one of those bags they find when the Circus leaves town.

And then the girl with the long blonde hair arrives and everything is flipped on its head.

Rapunzel is naive and simple, Rapunzel is childish and innocent, Rapunzel sees the magic in the circus that Cassandra never saw, and Rapunzel wants to cradle it to her chest and keep it there. She has long hung the stars in the sky for the people to see and admire, has known as well as they that touching them will only consume you and burn you. Stars aren’t meant for keeping. Rapunzel reaches for them anyways, reaches past the shiny chains and laughs when it hurts and dances with her prize with such joy. 

It hurts, a little, to watch. She knows the thrill and adrenaline of a good knife throw, the comfort of a good verbal match against Flynn, the gentle rush when Lance gives her a sidelong glance-- but she has never known this level of joy. She has never wanted to skip, never wanted to pivot, never been seized with fits of giggles. Rapunzel could light up the entirety of the circus, the entirety of the city, replace all the electricity and candles and still shine bright. She’s like a child with their first toy, their first Christmas, amplified and multiplied into a supernova of cheer.

And it makes absolutely zero sense to her that when Flynn brings Rapunzel to her caravan, beseeches her to teach and guide her through the life, that she would become stupidly attached. Like family she has never had, she claims her as her own. Her sister, her best friend. In days, she has somehow latched onto her, seized with wanting and affection, and oh, she knows it’s bad. She knows this is dangerous, because she sees how the blonde looks at Flynn and how her eyes widen and sparkle and Cassandra recognizes that look. 

She’s seen so many people look at him that way, and she knows, no one who looks at Flynn like he is the world lasts long here. 

She tries to keep her away from him, to discourage her from what she’s doing-- but Rapunzel has found her wings and she refuses to be caged. She soars out of her reach, clumsy and earnest in her pursuit of the high flyer, and all Cassandra can do is watch in mournful horror as she discovers the bars between them.

“It’s just another cage.” Rapunzel whispers that night into Cassandra’s shoulder, cried out, and the knife thrower rubs her back because she learned long ago to not reach for the flames. Anyone who gets close to the Baron’s star act disappears and she is not naive, she knows the places where people will not find bodies for weeks. They are the same in every city-- she knows because she has seen time after time the people get carried out in and left behind.

There is something heavy around her wrists, something tight wrapping around her throat, a weight she is registering she wears on her ankles-- and yet she does not want to admit she is trapped. She has long accepted her role and is afraid of what exists beyond it, what happens if she fights the golden links that threaten. If she keeps in step, if she follows exactly, she will not be one of those missing persons. The chiming of gold on gold, pretty and terrifying, reminds her what is beyond her reach. 

She wishes Rapunzel understood. 

It’s not just a cage, there are also chains. Security. It’s not fair, maybe, and maybe it’s not right-- but this is what they know and this is about survival.

Cassandra stretches a hand out and wants to call Rapunzel back the next morning, she wants to cry and drag her back, to show her the gilded fetters that hold her in place. To scream at her that she doesn’t understand, that there are ditches and rivers where she will be found if she fights against the chains. She doesn’t. Her chest heaves and constricts and her eyes burn like Rapunzel’s hands should have when she cupped stars, and that should have been her first warning. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts her, Rapunzel is unstoppable.

And she is terrified for her.

She flees before she knows it, she deviates from her schedules and her practices and finds Lance where she knows he will always be at this time. She knows where everyone is supposed to be, and where they actually will be. She knows where the chains lie beneath the pretty words, waiting to snap them all up, and she is leaping over them and hoping that they will not close on her as she whistles for him, calling away from safety and into the danger. Cassandra shouldn’t be so glad that he doesn’t ask questions and instead just trusts her, comes along with her.

There is no knife in her hand when she stares up at him, nothing to threaten or scare him, but he stills all the same and waits as she struggles with the words when they are alone behind a caravan.

“The Baron wants Rapunzel gone.” 

She remembers Anthony knocking on her caravan, how Rapunzel’s face fell when she was told to leave. Cassandra recognized it, but the blonde missed the ‘or else’ that hung in the air. She knows what the newcomer is going to do, where she has gone and who she is talking to, and she knows the Baron will not take this lying down.

The wind is sucked out of Lance and his dark eyes go wide as he leans back, because he knows what she knows and recognizes the bindings tightening rapidly around them. They only have one window, one attempt-- their hands are being forced because if they do not jump at the right moment, they will be snapped up and torn apart by the glittering chains they have let guide them for years on end. They have danced and danced through these links, hopped through all the right loops, they know the tempo and the timing like the ticking of the clocks and the pulse of their hearts. 

Even as apart as they must be, they are in sync, partnered without words but just looks. 

If Rapunzel leaves on her own, they will be alright. They both know that isn’t going to happen.

They both know that Rapunzel is talking to Flynn, pleading with Flynn, and Cassandra feels for her, but she is actually scared for once. She has seen the way Flynn looks at her when he thinks no one is looking at him, when he thinks he is safe. (They’re never really safe.) They may not know what they’re feeling, not the depths of it, but they’re going to risk everything and leave the Baron’s Big Top.

And if they both leave, Cassandra and Lance will pay the price.

Unless… She doesn’t voice it, yet, the words caught in her throat as she struggles with the feelings the idea gives her, but she looks up at him and freezes. Careful of prying eyes and society and the Baron, they’ve never dared to get this close. She didn’t want to disappear in the night-- even if he isn’t Flynn, he’s close to him, and they know what happens when you get too close to the Baron’s star act. And if not her, then Lance-- People don’t take kindly to people like him, not with women like her. They’ve walked a tightrope, meticulous, petrified, spinning around each other and coming so close to falling but unable to reach out and hold the other up.

To catch the other.

And then there are his hands wrapping around her wrists, her breath caught in her throat, a curious lead in her feet-- and she is tethered in place by the intensity of his eyes as he keeps her gaze. His hands are rough in texture against her skin, gentle in how he holds her, and the warmth is consuming. It starts from where he touches her and then spreads until her face burns and her belly flutters. This is a new dance, but he does nothing but steady her, help her find her feet because they are both slipping.

“What do you want to do, Cassie?” Lance asks her, and it doesn’t break the spell, doesn’t help the rushing of blood in her ears.

What does she want to do? She is frozen, the moment echoing as she just stares up at him. 

She has long accepted her role in this place, accepted that this was how she could survive, but now she wonders what it would be like outside the chains, what it would be like to actually thrive and live. Not just survive. If she keeps in step, if she follows exactly what Baron wants, she will only scrape by, and somehow, that’s not enough anymore. 

Because even if she follows his rules, the rules are just traps, aren’t they? 

Lance has her cornered and caught and she feels freer in this moment than she has in her entire life. She realizes she knows exactly what she’s wanted, she’s always known, she just-- never dared.

The tinkling of the music in the tent behind them should be a reminder and a warning of what they shouldn’t do. They should part ways, maybe they should turn Rapunzel in-- instead, Cassandra stretches the last few inches of distance and steals a soft hesitant kiss. This is what she wants to do. She’s testing the waters, testing the limits of their chains, and all that happens is that she is seized closer and kissed back desperately. 

First kisses probably do not go like this, they are probably more gentle and sweet, but there is a magic to this all the same. She feels the giddiness in her chest, the rush and relief as they finally just … let themselves be swept away. 

There are other chains to think of, to remember, but for now all that is holding her is Lance and she melts into his embrace and into this moment. How long has she wanted to do this?

“Runaway with him,” She whispers when they separate for air, breathing raggedly and smiling and there is a line of desperation in her expression, she’s aware. She has her hands hooked in his shirt, holding him down toward her, bent backwards as he is leaned forward to support her weight, and she steals another hungry kiss, “Runaway with me.”

She wants to kiss him forever, to spiral in their new dance and break the clocks and the chains and just have him. 

Rapunzel wants Flynn, Rapunzel wants to fly-- and if the blonde can throw herself out of a window and still reach for the stars, what’s stopping Cassandra? What is she, the daredevil, so afraid of, really?

“I think I know where we can go,” He rubs a thumb along her cheek and the wide span of his hand still is at the small of her back, cradling her up. She feels safer than she’s ever felt in the chains, even though they are standing in the roaring flames. Something in his eyes tells her he’s thought of this, before. Not just the kissing, but the running. 

There is finally nothing heavy around her wrists, nothing cold to choke her throat, no iron binding her ankles. There is nothing holding her back, the pretty chains are shed and she is not leashed anymore. She had long accepted her role in this place, had succumbed to a long slow death, and now she is blazing with life once more. She has a new dance, new steps to learn-- to make. To create. She’s going to make them with him, with Lance, they’re going to find a tempo their own and she knows if she falls, he’ll catch her. Just like she’ll catch him.

And if all else fails, they have friends. She has a real friend, now.

Cassandra steals one more kiss, a promise, a token, and they begin to lay the foundation of their future. He tells her of the far west, where there is fresh ground to be broken, where gold glitters on every surface, where they can find a place that the Baron cannot follow. Where they can build a home, together, that would be safer from prying eyes and angry folks. 

When she meets up with Rapunzel again, later, she is all smiles and determination. She takes her hand when the blonde shakes, unsure, and she makes her promises with complete seriousness. 

“They cannot stop us anymore. There are no cages or chains strong enough to keep us.”


End file.
